


Together with You

by miamicamie (miamicamiw)



Category: Dirk Pitt - Clive Cussler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miamicamiw/pseuds/miamicamie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because they can't be friends and not be more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together with You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noxnoctisanima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxnoctisanima/gifts).



Albert Giordino was not a soft man. HIs life-as combined full time Assistant Special Projects Director and part time superhero- had no room to be soft. Between monitering the salvage and restoration projects that piled on his desk (and dealing with the overflow from the head of the department), and the ever exciting challange of stealing the admiral's cigars, his schedule was booked. And besides, he was Albert Cassius Giordino, a man built like a barrel with the muscle power of a team of horses, and a tongue as sharp as a toledo blade (according to friends in varying states of inebriation). He'd been described throughout his life as loyal as a St. Bernard, strong as an ox, clever as a fox, the most unwelcome of thieves(Sandecker), and a host of other things.

But soft as a cloud had never been a common Giordino-esque simile.

That was not to say he was not kind. Al's heart was carved from 24 carot gold, and surgically attached to the right place. He was generous almost to a fault, and quiet as the grave when the situation called for it. The stocky Italien genuinely liked most people, and could tolerate most of the rest. You didn't have to be a feather pillow to be a good person, after all, and Al proved it. He wasn't rough or crude, but more like a stone worn down by eons in a river. Smooth, and as hard as diamond.

So it had been a wonder that as texturally complex a person as Dirk Pitt could claim any sort of romantic affection for him.

That being said, Giordino wasn't displeased by said romantic affection. Surprised, yes- Dirk had made his preference in women known for most of their adult lives- but not displeased. After all, who could be displeased with the idea of your best friend for God knew how many years thought you were fantastic and awesome and all the other sweet, blood loss induced adjectives? Al was certainly happy about it-- it wasn't that he held some school girl flame for the man, but there wasn't a single person-male or female who wasn't at least a little smitten with the man after five minutes in his presence. And having spent a million times more then that, Al was more then a little smitten.

Which made it all the more surreal to be sitting outside of the hanger, one hand on his jeep's ignition as he tried to ignore the mental voice screaming at his to leave. Only women-and then the most beautiful- in distress and a certain red headed congresswomen were invited over for something more romantic then pizza, beer, and the History Channel's "Chronicles of Naval Warfare". The later was usually made more exciting by Dirk and Rudi Gunn's snide remarks and corrections, while Al himself was content with lobbing barbs-and occasionally popcorn- at the image of Shelby Foote, but that was about as romantic as it got. Dinner-actual food, not Papa John's and Bud Weiser- at Dirk's mismatched table, possibly even serious conversation....it was uncharted waters for them. And despite his natural levels of bluster, Al truyl had no idea what to do next. Nothing in the Air Force Academy had ever prepared him for this, and none of the local colleges offered courses on 'Having a Relationship with Your Best Friend of 20 Years 101'.

Not that he'd checked or anything. Because that would have been ridiculous.

It had been easier to handle in the jungle. In fact, it had been a lot easier in the jungle. There had been no possibility of a morning after, or even of an hour after. They were going to be killed as soon as those Columbian art thieving bastards caught up with them, which was surely going to be any moment now. Dirk had been lying on his side, head on Al's stomach and losing blood from a thousand places on his back and chest. It seemed that gliding down a stone pyramid using a giant Columbian flag as a parachute worked better on paper then in practice, though at least he was still alive. Giordino'd had a hell of a time stopping the bleeding, resorting to using his NUMA sweatshirt as a giant bandage and their belts, leaf veins, and strips of his shirt as bindings. The result resembled a sleeveless straight jacket, but at least the shirt had yet to bleed through. Al had been busy working at wrapping a gun graze on his side iwthout moving his friend's head when Pitt had come around.

" 'm sorry."

"This?" There was mock indignation in Al's voice. "You happily drag me across the North Pole and into sink holes and down South American rivers, through the Sahara desert, onto the Titanic, on blimp cruises that crash in Cuba, and you wait until we are playing solitaire with Columbian finger painters to apologize?" The man's pained grin had raised his spirits just a hair. "Dirk Pitt, you need some standards."

"I have standards. I hang out with you, don't I?"

"Yeah, but I've seen you kicking back with that anchor clanker Gunn, too."

"You're friends with Rudi too, and you know it."

"Only because he does my homework." The conversation was one that varied between the three friends, and Rudi-whom Al was very pleased was stuck in Cali with some strange jungle stomach virus- had very creative descriptions for his favorite Italien, and would have been entertained to hear Giordino's latest adjective for him. The conversation would have entertained Al, if Pitt's slurring words didn't have him so concerned. "Stay with me, Dirk, or I will make a paper trail from you to the Admiral's cigar safe."

"Go jump offa cliff."

"Love you too, buddy."

Dirk's eyes had snapped-well, as much as exhuasted eyes could snap- open, opaline meeting brown for a moment before closing again. Pitt had heaved a shallow sigh, face nestling a ittle deeper against Giordino's stomach.

"I do love you, Al."

"I know." Damn jungle, making sweat get into his eyes. Humidity was making his throat tight, too. "It's my charming personality; everyone loves me. Giordino curse."

Al could tell his friend was beginning to fade. His skin was paling, and his voice, when he spoke, was faint. The approaching coma was draining what strength he had, and his words were more short rambles then sentances.

" 's kinda sad...didn't mean to wait this long...could have told you anytime...meant to tell you...'ince you're kinda awesome....always loved you....should have told you earlier...." He fell silen again, sleep finally claiming his failing body.

Al let him go, eyes misting even as he tried to blink them clear. It would be so easy to chalk it up to blood loss, and yet.....drugged, concussed, drunk, under duress, Pitt was nothing if not himself. No matter the condition, he always said what he meant to say. Was now really any different? They'd always been close, brothers in every sense of the word to be a reflection of that. Surely this was Pitt's own way saying farewell in a hopeless situation? He must have known known they weren't getting out of this anc acted accordingly. Al himself probably had something similiar to it if her were in the same situation.

And yet, somehow, he knew it wasn't that they felt all the time, in deed if not word. But that was not how they said it.

He'd heard the inevitable steps then, as their Columbian friends approached. It really had been only a matter of time, but at least Dirk wouldn't feel a thing. As for him....well, both his Taurus and Ptt's Colt had full clips, and he had every intention of using them them to full capacity before the end.

Not that the marines Sandecker had bullied into being sent would have appreciated it.

The next few hours had been a blur of stumbling through the jungle-there were still militants out there and Al refused to waste two marines on carrying him when he could still walk- to the helicopter ride into Cali, and a hospital stay where he was alternately berated and fussed over by Admiral Sandndecker, while Gunn sat both smug and concerned in the corner, worried about his friend bu very happy that he had won the 'something will happen this trip' NUMA pool; he'd put his money on the first day. Pitt was in ICU for suturing and blood infusions, which meant that he got the full blunt of four hours of near panicked worry, and had no space to himself to think.

The easiest thing would have been for Dirk not to remember that he'd said anything. And it wasn't that Al didn't want-or wouldn't welcome- a relationship with his friend, but there were so many things that could happen. Neither of them had been anything but bachelors, and weren't noted fans of monogomy-though Al did at least date one women at a time. And there was Congresswoman Loren Smith, who held Dirk around her manicured, publicly elected hand. Above all, there was a chance that it wouildn't work, and take their friendship with them. Al had survived well enough for 37 years without someone in his life, but he wouldn't last a day in a Dirk Pitt-free enviornment.

The keys were getting warm in his hands. He had to make a decision. Stay or go, choose the possible relationship or stay just friends. Either way, it was now or never. He had a feeling there would be no second chance.  
If only he could make the choice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
He wasn't going to come in.  
Dirk Pitt had paced up and dow  
n the stairs, heart twisting in his chest. He;d known this was a bad idea. It hadn't been a problem inColumbia-- they were going to die. Despite Al's suprisingly effective triage tourniquet, he'd still been losing blood at an alarming rate. They'd been stuck in the middle of the jungle, pursued by some of the nastier art thieves who had refused to believe they really were NUMA scientists banished to studying ocean-flowing rivers as punishment for destroying their superior's yacht.

Even if it was true.

But the Columbian underground-be they drug runners, smugglers or art thieves- were a ruthless breed of people, and that particular breed of merry men had been no exception. They'd both had the fun experience of fist, boot and gun pummeling, and the always exciting treat of being tied to a flag pole at the top of an ancient pyramid while their captors packed up the operation and prepared to move. Obviously, the thieves had not been expecting two marine biologists to be so wily, and they hadn't seen Giordino twist and snap the ropes around their wrists and make a careful descent toward one of the waiting helicopters.

They had, unfortunately, caught sight of him as he;d darted from the cover o trees, and acted accordingly.  
Dirk's heart had raced at the sudden buzz of bullets, but it's frantic pace had seemed to stutter and halt when Al went down. Even from his position he could see the frowing blotch of crimson staining his friend's back and side. The pain had been all encompassing, threatening for one terrible second to block out everything he was. The very thought that he had just seen the cool-eyed murder of his best friend had been devastating, and as he'd watched the guards approach the still Italien Pitt had acted almost without thinking. The government had put the pole-and it's subsequent flag- atop the pyramid in arrogence, and the thieves kept it as a helicopter reference point. Now Dirk ripped the 3 square meters of material down, gripping the side to create an improvised wind drag. And he'd jumped, skimming lightly down the smooth side of the pyramid....until the seams had given way, throwing his trajectory off and sendind him bouncing and rolling down 10 meters of very sharp rock. He'd ignored the firey pain, concentrating only on the Colt in his hand as he shot, bringing the guards down in reckless, vengeful fury aimed at anyone who dared approach Albert Cassius Giordino while Dirk Pitt still drew breath.

The relief he felt at Al rolling painfully to his feet would have brought him to his knees, if the agony lancing through his back and chest hadn't done it for him.

Their sprint through the jungle-there was no way the helicopter could fly with bullets riddling it's gas tank- was mostly a blur to Pitt. He'd pushed on gamely, content to follow Al, until the stocky Italien had made them stop. Dirk himself was loosing too much blood, and at this rate they would never find their way out of the rain forest. He had only intended to rest for a moment, but the pause had given Al a chance to really look at the damage the pyramid had done, and he'd insisted on binding it before they stopped again. The pain/relief of the compress had, however, robbed him of what little strength he'd had, and continuing on became an inpossibility. When he'd begun to lose the fight against the shadows in his vision it had seemed the last nail in his coffin, and he'd not argued when Al suggested staying still until the all clear. There'd been no point- that wasn't coming, and they both knew it.

Dirk was a treasure trove of creative thinking, and there were few situations he couldn't finangle his way out of. Al, on the other hand- was more pragmatic and while he'd be the last person to give up, the Italien was far more likely to see the realty of a situation. Giordino was by no means stupid, but it was easier for him to pound his way through a situation,and leave the truly fancy-or idiotic- planning to Pitt and Rudi. At times like this, the difference was obvious. Al had every intention of stashing Pitt in some foiliage and then having his own Columbian version of the O.K Corrall, while Pitt probably could have built a hang glider out of leaves and whisked them away. But despite these diferences-and the options they presented- both men were resigned the inevitable. Pitt's only true regret was that he was probably going to bleed to death long before their enemies found them, leaving Giordino alone....and ignorant of the fact that his best friend was inescapably in love with him.

Unfortunately his subconcious was more then ready to remedy that particualr situation. He, Dirk Pitt, the man who could keep his head through just about anything- was absently spilling out theclosest guarded secret for Al to hear. By the time he'd gotten his tongue under control, the shadows had turned into actual unconciousness, and he had sucumbed to them. It had never occured to him that he would wake from them, and so the fact that he;d confessed was of little consequence. It was, therefor, a bittersweet suprise when he;d woken up in the Cali hospital.

He'd been in the ICU alone, which was for an eternity a horror. Had he survived, and Al died alone it that forest? That fear had lasted until the head nurse had informed him that Al, Rudi, and the admiral were in the regular wing of the hospital asking for his condition, and did he give consent to tell them? He'd given it gratefully, and when she'd gone, quietly rejoiced. Al and his inevitable disgust were delayed, and it gave Pitt the chance to seek some much needed advice. And while it was a shame that he couldn't call upon Sen. George Pitt, his father-happily married- wasn't in a position to understand exactly what his son was going through. The person he was calling did.

"Perlmutter here."

"I told him."

To Dirk's great relief, St. Julien didn't need to ask questions to understand the situation. They'd spoken over this enough that the naval historian understood the problem almost immedietly.

"What did he say?" Perlmutter sounded almost disapointed, though whether in Giordino or PItt himself Dirk couldn't have said. "And what number is this? I dont recognize it."

"The hospital in Cali. And I'd already passed out before his reaction. I tohught we were going to die, and they were so close anyway, and do you think he remembers?"

"Die? Dirk Eric Pitt, what the hell have you been doing now?"

This time id did take a few questions to get the whole story out, and longer to help his godsos calm down, but Perlmutter eventually demanded Pitt get some rest before calling him when he was back in the states. Some had turned into five hours of being poked and prodded into taking fluids between naps and rebandaging sessions in preperation for the flight home. He'd hobbled out of the ICU-wheel chairs were for the broken and new mothers- and right into a relieved Sandecker tirade. The older man had ranted the whole ride to the airport, relenting only when Dirk had rested his head against the seat in a quiet plea for mercy.

"Get some rest then. You and Al are going to be on desk duty for a month after this."

"Where is Al?" It was a thing of pride that his words didn't slur.

"He and Rudi are already on the plain. I imagine you will be hearing from Commander Gunn about this little incident as well."

Pitt bit back a groan. Sandecker only used Rudi's title when he was particularly pleased with something the man had done or was about to do. And giving hell to a pair from NUMA's Special Projects division-it's leader and co-leader, no less- was something the admiral was bound to approve of.

And Rudi had his piece to say, but it was no torture compared tothe fact that Giordino feigned sleep the entire flgiht back. His friend hadn't spoken a word to him, and that tore right into his heart. How could he let this happen? He hadn't even meant to say anything, and now more then two decades of friendship were tossed down the drain because he couldn't keep his mouth shut througha bout of bloodloss. that loss was enough to keep him quiet throughout the flight himself. Thankfully Sandecker was oblivious to the tension in the plane as he rattled off details for a new project, though Pitt caught Rudi giving the two of them odd glances. Dirk resisted thelling his friend to get used to a very possible new norm for them.

But even now, as Dirk paced the hallway between the stairs and the kitchen, there was one small hope: their silence had been shattered quickly. Not even a day into their promised desk banishment (with Sandecker 'casually' walking by every hour or so), and Al walked =almost- innocently into Pitt;s office. The dark haired man was wrestling with both his stapler and the urge to go talk to Al himself, so the relief was hard to squash.

"Hey. Can I help you with something."

Al was quiet for a moment, eyes on the half mangled bits of stapler littering Pitt's desk.

"Two things. Well, maybe three. First, that bit wasn't supposed to come off."

Dirk tried for an innocent face. "It wasn't?"

"Nope, we went over this last time. It's supposed to go out the window in one piece."

"Oh, right." The stapler went in the drawer for later disposal. "And the other things?"

Giordino's hesitation was barely the space of a breath, and yet it seemed an eternity. "We...I....I think we need to talk."

Shit. Shit! "Yeah. Are....Do you want to come over to the hanger tonight? I've got about a ton of food that St. Julien pushed on me."

"Yeah?" Al perked up a little; he was a man that appreciated St. Julien appreciating food. "Sounds good."

Dirk felt the fist around his heart loosen just a little. "And the third thing?"

"Right!" Al's face suddenly held a wicked grin as he tossed a glasses case at his friend. "Hold that until end of day, will you?"

Without looking, Dirk knew the case held two of the admiral's cigars. "You're going to get me fired."  
"Not if he doesn't find them."

The two had talked about simple things-and Al had helped Dirk 'fix' his stapler- and the two had parted, but by the end of the day Dirk was on Cloud Nine. Even if nothing happened, and even if he had to push everything back and try to explain away the jungle, he and Al were still Dirk and Al. That much, at least, was safe.

The door buzzer interrupted those musings, and Dirk had to quell his combined nerves and happiness.

"It's open!"

"You're drive way is so lo- when did you get the Camaro?!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Dinner was, suprisingly, easy. Al couldn't have been more pleased with that. He had called himself nine types of fool when he'd suggested they'd talk, but now it seemed worth it. Stretched out on the mismatched couches with beer, the news, and and some kind of gourmet blend, crackers, and kobe beef. They hadn't even talked yet, and somehow it didn't seem like they needed to. Giordino had a feeling that Dirk had either decided to wait for him, or backed away from the idea entirely. One was terrifying, the other....disapointing. And that alone had him sitting up and setting his bottle down.

"Question....Did you mean it?"

Dirk frose for just a second, before mirroring his friend's actions. "I...There was...Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"And now?"

He took a deep breath, and Al's heart raced despite himself. "I do still mean it."

Well....And that was it. Al's mind couldn't seem to come up to speed any farther then that. The ball was in his court, and he was just standing there dribbling. Both of their futures were resting on whatever he said next, and he couldn't think of anything to say! Why was this always so difficult? He never had a problem knowing what to say when someone was debating with him, or trying to gloat. He just went on instinct and....and....

Well shit. He'd been overthinking this the whole time. He'd do anything for Dirk anyway, because he cared about the man. Sure he genuinely cared about others-Rudi Gunn, Admiral Sandecker, Mama Giordino- but this was...deeper. He respected them, even loved them, but he'd follow Pitt to hell and back with a spring in his step. There had never not been a time when it wasn't the two of them. They saw each other almost everyday, and ususally ate lunch together. God only knew how many times Dirk had dropped off with his head on Al's shoulder on long flights, or how many knots Pitt had coaked out of Giordino's shoulders after particularly brutal salvage days. Simple fact: he was going to spend the rest of his life with this man anyway, and hadn't he awlays wondered just what it was that made women so fond his friend? Hadn't he envied most of them, and always had a faint dislike for Loren Smith? Could it really be that simple?

"Good. If you hadn't fainted in the jungle, I'd have told you I felt pretty much the same way. Still, gave me more time to think."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"Fainted? Fainted?! I was watering the ground with me blood, there was no fainting involved."

Good Lord, he was going to die. Here he'd been, set up for failure, and his best friend is very casually telling him that he loved him too, and that was that. Dirk felt giddy for a moment, before managing to pull himself together. This was great, but there was no call to go to pieces just yet. Nothing he'd done had ever scared Al off, but hysterical joy might just be the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Well....what now?"

"Lean over, just a sec. I want to try something."

The kiss was brief, truly experimental, and yet by the time it was over there was mutual lust in both their eyes. There was something, Dirk decided, about kissing someone you knew, had known basically forever. He'd seen Al naked before, and Al had seen him the same way, but this-craning his head back so that Al could just barely press their lips together- was more exciting then anything before. And when his friend came back-his lips a little more inquisitive, his rough hands just barely rsting on Dirk's cheeks- it was very heaven.

And then he fell off the couch.

Which was, upon further review, his own fault. Al had drawn his head back and Dirk had tried to follow, only to raise his back a little too far and slip sideways to hit the floor with a thunk. Al stared at him for a moment before absolutely losing it, his laugh booming through the room and raising a grin from Pitt even as he plotted revenge-- in the form of a tackle, which had then both tumbling in a heap to the floor. Where, to Pitt's shock and pleasure, Al took control. Pragmatic to the last, he'd simply decided that this was no different then a relationship with a woman and-unlike most women- Pitt wasn't made of glass. And while it was still a suprise to have his shirt unbuttoned and pushed away, Dirk had found his own rythm soon enough.

They worked around the stitches on both of them, avoiding bandages when they could and gentling over them when they couldn't. Al was suprisingly gentle as he moved, memorising well known muscle in an entirely knew light, while Dirk had never truly appreicatd just how thick Al's hair was until he gripped it to control a frantic, desperate kiss. And they proved just as capable a team as ever when, later, Al lifted his friend to avoid carpet burn on a sensative back, and Dirk impaled himself on his friend.

It didn't matter that they had work together the next morning, because they could handle it. And it didn't matter that they were still on loan from the air force, that Don't Ask Don't Tell was still in full force, or that they were making several betters in the office pool very happy. It was them, just the two of them, and that was that.

End

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I didn't ruin the ending, but I wanted to give you some smut without ruining the flow and feel of the story.
> 
> Happy Yuletide!


End file.
